Brothers In Arms
by Gaerwn
Summary: Carter's keeping things from Newkirk. Post-war. One-shot.


**Brother In Arms  
**by gaerwn

_Summary: Carter's keeping something from Newkirk. Post-war._

* * *

It seemed a lifetime ago that Kinch had uttered the words. A simple phrase, but it had somehow said everything they never did - never could, really. 'We'll get together in London after war.' It held a promise: that this little band of raucous saboteurs was held together by bonds of brotherhood and it wouldn't just fade away when the job was done. Near the end, when they'd been separated and unable to return to camp, it had been a lifeline for each of them. Those words had burned themselves into their consciousness, indelibly marked with the soft, confident tones in which Kinch had said it so long ago. They each had their own story to tell, of survival and flight across the lines, could speak of how hope that the war was ending shone dimly when faced with desperate soldiers living through the death throes of a regime. They all bore the scars of their flights (and fights); some were more obvious than others. They all knew Carter had trouble sleeping some nights, Kinch bore a long jagged scar along his arm, Newkirk had hobbled around on crutches for a good long time after he'd finally dragged himself to London, LeBeau caught himself hyper-vigilant and paranoid more often than not, and Hogan kept them all on their toes with easy smiles and confident expressions. (They couldn't help it; they were all just waiting for some nervous breakdown somewhere but it was like Hogan knew something that the rest of them didn't.)

It had been four months since the last of them - Newkirk and Hogan - had arrived on England's shores. Carter and Kinch had been in London for near six months, LeBeau just slightly longer. LeBeau had managed to hie himself off to Paris for a time in all that, but for the most part, they had all decided to actually forgo going home just yet in order to put their knowledge and skillsets to use in the chaos that was the end of the war. General Butler had been more than appreciative and, along with Hogan, had promised some sort of recompense. That wasn't the driving force behind their collective decision to keep working, but it didn't hurt - and neither did the phone calls home they'd been given. Still, only Newkirk and LeBeau had seen family, but the others couldn't find it in their hearts to be envious over it: LeBeau had had to visit his father's grave to find him and Newkirk had had to sort through the rubble of his East End home to find whatever mementos might remain there.

Now, six weeks before they were all slated to go home, Newkirk rounded them all up for a drink in an East End pub. He'd left the crutches for a cane just a couple of weeks ago and there was a tightening around Hogan's eyes every time he watched the man take a limping step. The pub owner - a friend of Newkirk's who'd put both him and his sister up when things went sideways for them - had put aside a table in the back corner for them, where they could speak undisturbed (and away from prying ears, if certain things came up.)

Right now, though, there wasn't much in the way of wartime secrets being discussed. Newkirk was in the middle of loudly and vociferously denying any and all good that came from any damned Yank in London while Carter sank lower and lower into his seat, Kinch looked on in complete befuddlement, and Hogan tried so very hard not to just start cackling like a loon. Without a thought about the three Americans currently gathered around the table, Newkirk told them all that nothing good came out all of them roaming around the city.

Especially so, since his sister fully intended on marrying one of them, which meant leaving London - and leaving her brother behind, which Hogan was fairly certain prompted this particular temper tantrum. (Hogan knew a few other things, as well, but those would come to the surface later. He had a feeling that a few things he'd put into play would start moving sooner rather than later and Mavis leaving London would go a long way toward pushing Newkirk into action. That, Hogan hadn't planned on, but it couldn't have worked better if he'd tried for it. There was an opportunity coming down through the works for him and Hogan hoped, prayed, and now knew almost for certain that Newkirk would take it.)

One of the first letters Newkirk had received after he'd been captured - even before Hogan's arrival at the stalag - had been one of happy news: Mavis, married just over a year before the war started, had given birth to a daughter. Six months after that, her husband - of the Royal Air Force - had been killed in action. Two years ago, the letter that had nearly cost the operation Newkirk's skills had arrived: his niece had been killed in a bombing. That week had been a long one, as Newkirk grieved for the niece he'd never met. It had also been the week they'd nearly lost everything they'd built in Germany, when Newkirk's anger over it all had taken over and he'd inadvertently revealed himself as English while inside Gestapo headquarters in German uniform. After everything had been put to rights, Hogan had offered to arrange Newkirk's passage home - but he'd declined, despite his instinct to go home and protect his little sister.

Right now, that instinct was in full swing. Hogan carefully hid a smile behind a full glass of warm beer as Newkirk set his empty glass down with a quiet *thunk*. "They need to leave well enough alone."

LeBeau opened his mouth to comment, gaze cutting toward the Americans at the table.

"Not these Yanks," Newkirk groused. He motioned toward the pub's door behind him. "Those Yanks."

Carter slid a little lower in his chair. He had both hands wrapped around what was now his third glass of beer. Kinch watched him worriedly, dark eyes narrowed and gaze flitting between Carter and Newkirk. That he was confused was evident. LeBeau held up a hand, opened his mouth, thought better of it, then fell to silence once again.

Hogan, sitting to Newkirk's right, caught Carter's eye and gave him what was meant to be an encouraging smile. Carter responded by looking at the floor with a pleading expression. Probably praying that it would open up and swallow him before he had to hear the rest of this conversation.

Newkirk was back in full force. "She doesn't need to be traipsing off across the bloody pond with some no-accou..._ow_..."

"Sorry," Hogan murmured over his beer. Newkirk glared at him. "Charlie horse." He sipped at his beer, completely unfazed by the look he was getting.

Newkirk reached down to rub his shin, still glaring at his commanding officer. "I'm just sayin'..." He straightened, then began rolling the empty glass between his hands. "She won't even introduce me."

Kinch coughed.

Newkirk glared.

"Maybe he's not so bad?" Carter dared to finally say something.

More glaring. Hogan fully expected him to sink back into his chair but instead, Carter straightened. So did Hogan. This could be interesting.

"He could be really nice," Carter said.

"He could be a right sod," Newkirk returned - and Hogan heard all the things he wasn't saying.

Carter's eyes flashed. His hand came down on the table and he leaned forward. "Well, it's not like we're gonna-" He cut himself off.

Kinch blinked before going wide-eyed. LeBeau choked on the beer he had earlier said wasn't worth the dirty glass that held it.

Hogan didn't even bother trying to hide his grin.

For a long moment, Newkirk was absolutely silent while he stared at Carter. For his part, Carter tried to stare back. He ended up looking at the tabletop instead.

"We." Newkirk said it slowly, with no inflection. Hogan could practically see the gears grinding to a halt. Hogan wondered if he needed to kick him in the shin again. He motioned to Carter, gestures clearly indicating the disbelief (and a little hurt, too, Hogan could see.) "You and Mavis..."

Carter nodded.

Silence fell. No one wanted to break it. Finally, Newkirk did, disbelief coloring his tone. "You didn't tell me?"

Ah, there was the hurt. Hogan sat up and set his beer down, ready to step in if needed. Carter had confided in him not long ago and he'd tried to get Carter to just talk to Newkirk. Short of doing it himself, though, there hadn't been much he could do.

Well, besides let it play out and have enough faith in the guys to work it out amongst themselves. Kinch caught his eye and he waved away the man's concern. LeBeau very slowly put his beer down and edged away from Newkirk. Carter and Newkirk stared at each other from opposite sides of the table.

Then Newkirk's empty glass flew across the table. It wasn't the best aim; Hogan knew full well that Newkirk could do better but he wasn't sure it was intentional that he'd missed or if it was because that was Newkirk's second empty glass before he'd eaten anything.

Carter turned to stare at the glass rolling across the floor - wonder of wonders, it didn't break - and then gaped at Newkirk. "You threw a glass at me."

"You didn't tell me."

Carter stood up, hands on the table. "You. Threw a glass. At me."

Newkirk followed suit, a little slower and favoring his right leg but no less annoyed. "You didn't-"

Hogan cleared his throat. Obviously, they both needed kicked into something other than yelling the same thing at each other. They turned their glares onto Hogan, who managed to look completely unaffected by the hostility settling on him. He motioned to Carter with his glass while looking at Newkirk. "He told you."

"He threw a glass at-"

"Carter." Hogan's gaze cut to him in time to see Carter sigh and wearily slump back into his chair. Children, all of them, really.

Newkirk huffed and sat down. Arms crossed, he settled a weary look on Carter. LeBeau shifted. "Pierre..."

"Stow it." He said it without heat, voice more thoughtful than anything else.

LeBeau shrugged and took another swallow of godawful beer.

They settled into silence again, Carter looking down at the table and Newkirk looking at Carter. Kinch and LeBeau stayed quietly still, occasionally glancing at Hogan, who simply smiled into his beer and waited.

"If you hurt her," Newkirk finally said, voice low and heavy, "there's no distance what can keep me from comin' for you."

Carter bristled, gaze snapping to Newkirk's face. "I'm not gonna hurt her." He paused and some of the anger drained away. "But you can come see us anyway whenever."

Newkirk huffed. "I need a beer."

Hogan's grin widened. Yeah, they'd be just fine.

* * *

_The End – for now!_

* * *

_Author's Notes: Just a little one-shot to test the waters, so to speak. There's a couple references to a few other things I'm working on scattered throughout. I love the guys in the war, but I also love the idea of weaving their lives together post-war as well. Let me know what you think!_


End file.
